


Mittens

by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Ben is an idiot but he tries, F/M, Fluff, Knitting, Pining, Redeemed Ben Solo, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21816829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriarLily/pseuds/thewayofthetrashcompactor
Summary: Ben Solo, no longer quite the asshole he once was, is definitely not pining over his mother's protege, Rey. Because that would be ridiculous. He has perfectly reasonable feelings for her as a colleague, and his decision to make her a present is just because he's concerned for her.And if he keeps telling himself that, it might even start being true.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 28
Kudos: 280





	Mittens

**Author's Note:**

> Been craving some winter fluff, and the idea for this one came while scrolling through some old prompt lists. Enjoy!

He doesn't know why he notices. 

That's a lie. He knows. He notices everything about her, even though he tries not to, because she's young and bright and beautiful. She deserves better than some creep ten years older than her, who's only just learning how to be a semi-decent human. He notices anyway.

It starts in October, when the weather's barely beginning to turn cold (fuck climate change). He knows she grew up in some desert in the southwest forsaken by all rational beings, but he still hasn't started wearing a coat when she comes into the office with a thick sweater, shivering. She sticks her hands under her armpits as she goes to make herself coffee, and he notices how red they are. When the coffee's ready, she wraps her fingers around the cup gratefully. He considers how much he'd like to go up to her and cover her hands with his, use his body heat to warm her up. He could pull her into his arms, let her keep her cold hands tucked between them against his chest until they warmed again. Or maybe he could wrap his arms around her from behind, warm her with his body while his fingers rubbed over hers. 

And then she could stamp on his foot, turn around and splash hot coffee in his face, and knee him for good measure. He sighs and goes back to his computer.

He doesn't think Rey hates him, precisely. Compared to some people in his mother's company (Dameron), she's downright friendly. She occasionally greets him when they pass in the hallways or the break room, and on a few memorable occasions, has smiled at him. (Every time she does, he loses the ability to think for the rest of the day.) She's the one who reached out to him when he was still doing his part to contribute to the evils of the world. Of course, he'd thrown the offer back in her face and insulted her just to round things out, which he doesn't think she's fully forgiven him for. Nor should she. He'd wanted her then too, even when he stood for everything she hated, which probably should have been his first warning. But he'd inherited his father and grandfather's compulsion to fall for a woman far too good for him, so he'd gone ahead and self-destructed anyway. 

He might have given up on the asshole villain act now and been welcomed by his mother back into the fold, but he doesn't entertain any illusions about how much the people around trust him. It's for the best. He's barely a functional person; he doesn't need to inflict all his mess on anyone else. 

He still notices Rey though. And he keeps having inappropriate thoughts about _cuddling_ her and other sappy nonsense he has no business thinking about. As the weather turns actually cold, she comes into the office bundled in increasingly ridiculous layers of shirts, sweatshirts, and coats, none of them warm enough on their own to keep out the chill. She has a lumpy hat she pulls over her hair and a single pair of thin gloves that can't possibly be doing anything for her hands. Her hands are always a blotchy red when she takes the gloves off, and she flexes them like she can't quite feel her fingers. 

So that's the start of the idea. Rey's hands, and how if he can't warm them himself, he needs to get her something that can. He goes to the Target by his apartment, intending to find something he can put on her desk before she gets there. Something thick and woolly that she can wear as it gets even colder in the new year. But all he finds are the same kind of thin, barely-there gloves she has, and he stomps out of the store empty-handed. 

This plan already verged on the insane, but his next thought fully tips him over that edge. If he can't buy her what she needs, he'll make them for her himself. Nevermind that her hasn't picked up knitting needles since he was an angsty teen and his uncle was attempting to find him a constructive and soothing hobby. (Calligraphy had stuck. Knitting hadn't.) Hands aren't that big. He can do this. 

He starts research online and quickly learns it's entirely possible he can't do this. But that hasn't stopped him before. His family is terminally afflicted with commitment to their questionable decisions, a trait he's inherited in full, so be presses on. His therapist has been encouraging him to pick up a hobby anyway. Mittens, he decides, are a more reasonable goal than gloves. They'll keep her just as warm and he doesn't have to worry about getting the fingers right. He finds a pattern that cheerfully declares itself "perfect for beginners" and orders some needles and yarn in a variegated green he thinks she'll like. She celebrates Christmas, as far as he can tell from some of her horrible sweaters and the tiny ornaments she's put on the succulents on her desk, and she likes green. He presses the "Complete Order" button after paying for rush shipping without letting himself think twice.

The order arrives a few days later, and now instead of spending every evening reading or at the gym, he starts making time to struggle over his yarn and the pattern. He doesn't remember his teenage attempt at knitting going particularly well all those years ago, but he thinks this may be worse. Maybe he's gotten too big. He'd ordered a thick yarn and larger needles, but his hands still feel massive in comparison, too big and clumsy to accomplish the small stitches. He tries to summon the fluid energy he remembers from calligraphy, but he just ends up more frustrated and tosses it aside. Then he sees Rey's frozen hands the next morning and comes home determined to try again. 

He has to restart a few times before he manages something workable enough to continue with. Once he gets going though, it slowly becomes easier. He still messes up the tension and doesn't always get the stitches right, but the material hanging from his needles starts growing in a shape vaguely resembling a mitten. It takes him a couple days, but he finishes one mitten body, then adds the thumb. He holds it up critically. It looks more lump than mitten, but maybe the second will be better.

The other one does go slightly faster. He wouldn't say he's gotten the hang of it, but he's a little less clueless, and that goes a long way. When he regards the finished pair together, he has to resist the urge to bang his head into the table repeatedly. 

They're hideous. Yarn sticks out in odd bumps in several places, while in others it pulls too tight. An odd bulge decorates the side of the first one where he'd lost count of his stitches. The pattern of the stitches is uneven everywhere and not even in a way that can be passed off as intentional. He drags his hands down his face. He should have known they'd end up like this. 

His first instinct is to burn the evidence and forget this ever happened, but instead of getting out the matches, he goes into the kitchen and rips all the paper and cardboard in the recycling to shreds until he's left with a bag of confetti. Then he takes a deep breath and goes back to the mittens. 

They're still hideous. But with his head a little clearer, he can see that the second is better than the first. He looks at the yarn he has left. He should have enough to try again. He gets out his phone and places an order for another skein, just in case. Then, he pulls himself together and picks up the needles. 

It takes another few days to make a second pair. By the time he's wrapping up the second one, he finds he's actually started to relax into the rhythm of the craft. The mittens aren't perfect; he still has to work to keep his tension from being too tight, and he turned his stitches in a few places. But he's produced a functional pair. He tries them on his hands. The cuff grips him a little tightly and his fingers can't stretch out all the way, but that should make them perfect for Rey. He gets out the gift bags and tissue paper he bought and carefully wraps the second pair. He writes "For Rey" on the tag as plainly as he can. Hopefully she'll think they're from one of her friends. After a moment's hesitation, he gets out a second bag and wraps his first pair too. He doesn't write anything on the tag for this one, but he knows his mother will get in to the office not long after him. He doesn't linger too long on the psychological implications of giving his mother his first attempt at a gift for Rey. He and his therapist have enough material for the next several decades as it is. 

His plan the next morning starts perfectly. He casually drops Rey's gift bag on her desk as he passes. When his mother comes in a little later, he grabs her bag and summons his strength as he walks into her office. 

"Happy Hanukkah," he says as places the bag in front of her. 

She raises an eyebrow. "You're early, " she remarks dryly. 

He wants to turn and leave but knows he's not getting out of this. "Figured I'd get a head start."

"I seem to remember a lengthy lecture about the commercialization of a minor holiday because people can't accept that not everything is Christmas." She reaches out for the present and regards it curiously. 

He shrugs. "I've matured."

His mother snorts. "Is that it?" She pulls the tissue paper off the top of the bag and withdraws the wrapped package inside. She unfolds the rest of the tissue paper and reveals the misshapen green mittens. She blinks. 

"They're mittens," he says.

"I can tell," she says, and her voice sounds odd, tight. "You made them yourself?"

He nods. "My first pair. You can hang them on the fridge or something."

She runs a hand over the uneven stitches with a kind of gentleness the lumpy yarn doesn't deserve. "They're wonderful, Ben. Thank you." She stands up and walks around the desk. "Come here."

He bends down and lets her wrap her arms around him, pulling him down to her height. His back aches, but he feels a prickling at his eyes as she holds him, her familiar floral perfume and the scent of hairspray tickling his nose. "I'm so glad you're back, sweetheart," she whispers. 

He swallows around a lump in his throat. "Me too."

She lets him go when the sounds of someone else coming in to work approach, briefly squeezing his hands in hers. He feels the wrinkles on her skin, the fragility he doesn't remember, and it scrapes the open wound in his chest. He tries not to let it show. He's here now, for what it's worth. He squeezes her hands back, gently. 

His mother looks up at him with a much more familiar knowing gleam in her eyes. "Does this have anything to do with the gift I saw on Rey's desk this morning?"

He doesn't reply, but he knows the flush creeping over his face up to his ears is answer enough. His mother smiles at him. "I'm sure she'll love them."

He retreats to his own office and opens up the file he's been working on, but it takes a while before he actually looks at it. By then, the office is starting to fill, and he hears his coworkers chattering. He tries not to listen for Rey's voice. She doesn't usually show up until later anyway, not that he's been paying attention. 

He still hasn't gotten anything done by the time Rey arrives. He picks up on her bright voice greeting Rose immediately, as much as he pretends not to. She talks briefly to the other people she passes, then he hears her give a surprised noise as she reaches her desk. 

"What's this?" she says, and someone gives a reply he can't hear. "There's a tag," she says next, then reads, "For Rey. But who's it from?"

"Secret Santa?" someone teases, he thinks maybe Jannah. "Open it!"

She does, according to the sounds of rustling paper. He wants to lean and look over, but he's trying not to draw attention. He has no investment here, just working on… whatever this is on his screen. 

"Oh!" she says, and he holds his breath. 

"Awww, they look handmade, that's so cute!" Rose says, apparently having come over to join the conversation. 

"Try them on," Jannah suggests. 

Something rustles, then Rey says, "Oh my gosh, they're so warm."

"Are they soft?" Rose asks. "Ooh, they are."

"You could wear them over your gloves," Jannah says. "Extra warmth."

"Oh, that's perfect!" Rey says. He hears more rustling. "I still don't know who gave them to me though."

"Really? No guesses?" Jannah asks. Ben thinks she sounds disbelieving, but he's not sure why.

"Someone who wants to warm you up," Rose teases. 

Ben can't help himself. Pretending to look for something on his mostly empty desk, he leans over and looks across the office. He quickly catches sight of Rose and Jannah clustered around Rey at her desk. Rey has her hands stretched out, looking at the fuzzy mittens covering them. They look a little big, but Jannah's layering suggestion was a good one. The other two women are looking at Rey too, but then as if they sense his gaze, Rose and then Jannah look over at him. Jannah smirks and Rose smiles, and he quickly snaps back to staring at his computer. 

They can't know. Right? They have no reason to think Kylo Ren would knit mittens for Rey. Probably just a coincidence. 

He listens as they chatter some more about the present before finally wandering off. He chances another glance over at Rey and sees her gently slipping the gloves into her jacket pockets. Warmth fills his chest. Mission accomplished. 

He can't stop thinking about it for the rest of the day though. He tries his best to act normal, though that ends with him overthinking what his ‘normal’ looks like to the point that he gets a weird look from Finn in the break room and Dameron asks him what's up with him today. 

"Nothing," he says, fast and loud. He grits his teeth. 

Dameron raises an eyebrow and smirks. "You sure about that?"

 _I will not punch my coworkers_ , Ben repeats to himself several times. When he feels a little less like lashing out, he replies, "Yes."

Dameron hums doubtfully, and Ben forces himself to grab his coffee and leave. 

The day passes slowly, but he doesn't manage to get anything done. The few changes he makes on his project will probably have to be redone tomorrow. He'll deal with it then. 

For once, he doesn't stay until the office closes. He puts in his eight hours, then packs up his bag and pulls on his coat. A few people around the office take note, but he can't be bothered to keep up the effort of hanging around. He needs to work out his nervous energy, and he can't do that here. Eyes follow him as he sweeps out of the office, but he doesn't look back. 

He takes his anxiety out on his punching bag at his apartment until his arms ache, then hits the treadmill and runs until he can barely stand. He knows he's overdone it and will pay the price tomorrow, but he doesn't regret it. His mind feels clearer, and most of his panic has dissipated. He did a good thing, now Rey has warm gloves, even if they're a little odd looking, and everyone will forget how she got them tomorrow. He gets some meat and vegetables out of the fridge for dinner and takes a quick shower. 

He's just getting out of the shower, hair still dripping, when he hears a faint knocking. He's prepared to ignore it, but then it starts again, louder. Grumbling, he wraps a towel around himself and stalks out to the door, not bothering to check the peephole. 

He immediately regrets this decision. Instead of some irritating neighbor, Rey stands in front of him, hand raised to knock again. Her jaw drops open as she looks him over, but she doesn't say anything. 

He shifts in the open doorway, wishing he'd at least grabbed a pair of pants. Rey has caught him half-dressed before in another improbable circumstance, but he hadn't meant to make a habit of it. He's not the type to run around without a shirt, but Rey does bring out the unusual in him. He wouldn't mind if the circumstances were more mutual. He doesn't dare let go of his grip on his towel. He clears his throat. 

"Rey?" he asks, voice half-strangled.

Her eye jerk up to his mouth from where they'd been stuck somewhere lower. "Hi," she says, more breathy than he's used to hearing her. 

She doesn't say anything else, and he tries to stand less awkwardly without exposing her to any more of himself than he's already subjected her too. "I don't usually do this," he says desperately, suddenly worried that she thinks he makes a habit of answering his door in a towel. 

She frowns, her gaze jumping back up again. "Huh?"

"This." He gestures at himself. "I usually put clothes on to talk to people." 

"Oh!" For some reason, she looks more confused. "I thought you meant --" She hesitates and looks up at him. "Do you want to get dressed? I didn't mean to interrupt."

He waves a hand. "It's fine." He'd rather figure out what brought her here. Then he pauses. "Unless I'm making you uncomfortable?"

"No!" she yelps quickly. "No, not at all. I just didn't want to make _you_ uncomfortable." 

They stand there staring at each other. The water in his hair starts to chill as it drips down to his shoulders. 

"Did you need something?" he asks finally. 

She jumps. "Oh, yeah, of course. I wanted to talk to you about something." She reaches into the bag slung across her chest and he tenses. Sure enough, she pulls out his green mittens. "Do you know anything about these?" she asks. A smile plays around her mouth. 

He wonders if he can get away with closing the door and just… avoiding her forever, but he doubts it. "They look like gloves," he says, trying for nonchalance. 

Suaveness, however, is not something either the Skywalker or Solo lines have been blessed with. Rey's smile grows, but it doesn't seem like she's laughing at him. She's definitely not upset. "Mittens, actually," she corrects. "Someone left them for me on my desk today but didn't say who they were from. Any ideas?"

He shrugs, realizing too late that's not a good move with only a towel on. Thankfully his grip on it hasn't loosened. "Leia?" he suggests, cursing himself even as he says it.

"I actually ran into her on the way out today," Rey says brightly. "I was wearing these, and she complimented me on them. Said your knitting had improved since your first pair." He swallows, not knowing what to say. Rey takes a step closer. There's not much space between them now; he could reach out and touch her, but--

"Did you make these for me, Ben?" She looks up at him as she asks, her eyes deep and her voice soft and he can't deny her.

"Yes," he admits. 

She bites her lip, her gaze never leaving his. "Why?" she asks. It's not an accusation; he hears the vulnerability in her voice. 

He gives into temptation and reaches out to brush his hand against hers, briefly. Her skin feels soft and cool. "I thought you were cold."

"I was," she says quickly. "And these are perfect. I love them, Ben."

His heart leaps in his chest. She _loves_ them. "I -- I'm really glad. I hoped you would."

"No one's ever made me something like this before, " she tells him, somehow leaning even closer. 

"It wasn't that hard," he says. His gaze dips down to her lips before jerking back up. 

She laughs. "Liar." And she closes the distance between them and kisses him. 

He can't believe it at first, but thankfully his body reacts better than his mind. She leans in, her chest so close to his, and his arms immediately wrap around her, pulling her the rest of the way. Her lips press against his, soft and eager, and he meets her as best he can. He's not entirely convinced he isn't dreaming this, but he'll take everything he can get. He couldn't dream anything better than the warm sun-kissed scent of her swirling around him as her hot tongue swipes over his lips. 

His hands clutch at her worn sweater, keeping her tucked against him. He feels the weave of the sweater against his skin, the press of her breasts, and her hands spread over his bare chest, the mittens he made for her still trapped between them. He wants to get her even closer, to know every part of her, and she seems to echo the sentiment. Her tongue sweeps into his mouth like she's desperate for his taste, and he groans and bends further into her. 

Somewhere down the hall, a doorway opens, then slams closed again, loud enough that they both jump. They look at each other, breathing heavily. 

"Would you… like to come in?" he offers, stepping back to push the door open for her. 

Her pink cheeks darken further as she smiles. "I really would." She follows after him, nearly tripping on something in the doorway.

He looks down and his heart stops. It's his towel. Now that Rey's mouth isn't distracting him, he does feel colder. Flushing wildly, he bends to pick it up. 

"Leave it," Rey tells him, a dangerous grin spreading across her face as she lightly pushes him back into his apartment. "We won't need it."

He barely hesitates. He stands and draws her into the apartment. She laughs as she kisses him again, bright and happy, and he kicks the door closed behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [pillowfort as thelastjedi](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/975168), [tumblr as thewayofthetrashcompactor](https://thewayofthetrashcompactor.tumblr.com/post/189670374553/read-on-ao3-written-for-i-am-thesenate-for-the), and [twitter as briartrash](https://twitter.com/briartrash/status/1205947263371141120?s=20). 
> 
> Comments always appreciated!


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